Beyond the Metamorphosis
by Scheherazade2
Summary: In the First Age of the Stars, Melkor (an evil greater even than Sauron) captured a group of newly-born elves. One of them was ready to fight for his life—and for the love he’d left behind. *CHAPTER THREE UP*
1. Default Chapter

Author: **Scheherazade **

Title: _Beyond the Metamorphosis_

Summary: In the First Age of the Stars, Melkor (an evil greater even than Sauron) captured a group of newly born elves.  One of them was ready to fight for his life—and for the love he'd left behind. 

Disclaimer:  Much as I would like love to claim this idea for my own, it was born of the genius of Tolkien.  Only the plot bunny (nice bunny…*feeds carrot*) and the specific elf characters are mine with which to play evil games. 

Now, without further ado… _Beyond the Metamorphosis_ (dun dun dun)

            Perhaps once, in the very beginning, the world had been untouched by evil, unsullied by entropy, and light and shadow had coexisted in harmony…but that had been before Melkor.  

            It was obvious from the first that the new world, Arda, would be beautiful.  The creators had seen to that, forming the dank earth of their love, fertilized by their sweat and tears.  They gave willingly of their blood to the rivers, and their joy to the night and day.  Arda was perfect, and lovely, and the creators were proud.

            But that was all before Melkor.

            Just how the world was marred has been lost in the depths of history, past myth and into the wispy dreams of those who lie awake at night and listen to time pass.  Perhaps Melkor only played the role of Pandora, accidentally unleashing death, disease, and anger.  However it happened, Arda was permanently marred, and Melkor was banished, expelled, punished—sent away to nurse his private anger and humiliation.  

            Thus the years passed.  While the creators continued their work on the perpetual labor of love that was Arda, Melkor waited, waited for a chance for revenge.  It came many years later, and Melkor was again defeated and chained.  His dark home, Utumno, fell into disrepair.  Hate twisted Melkor's heart and corrupted his visage until beauty hurt his eyes like daggers of ice piercing his demented soul.

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            The ages came and went like a gentle tide, and the creators at last began to populate their world with creatures.  The balrogs appeared as well as the great spiders.  The dwarves were conceived and laid aside, slumbering until their turn to be awakened and see for the first time the world the creators had lovingly sculpted for them.  The stars were rekindled in the bright heavens, signaling the beginning of the First Age of the Stars.  Under the vibrant light of the new stars, the creators awoke the Elves.  

            A proud tall people the Elves were, whose countenances shone nearly as bright as the stars under which they were born.  They understood the darkness, and befriended it; after all, the stars are nothing without the black backdrop of the night against which to shine.  The Elves were born with music in their souls, and because the creators loved them so, they were given eternal life.  

            Melkor had never hated anything so much in all of his long tortured years.  His abhorrence grew as the Ents and the Dwarves were awoken too, and breathed the air of Arda.  He swore deep in him that he would have his real revenge, pervert and twist the nascent life the creators so blessed.

            And that is where our story begins.

            **A/N**:  Questions?  Comments?  This is only the prologue, an explanation of sorts of why everything that happens later will occur.  I accept all reviews, even flames, on one condition: if you flame, please provide an explanation so that I may improve.  If you're going to compliment this piece of unedited ****, no explanation is necessary. I like having my ego fluffed.  Peace out, ladies and gentlemen.


	2. Chapter TwoPremontions and Declarations

Author: **Scheherazade **

Title: _Beyond the Metamorphosis_

Summary: In the First Age of the Stars, Melkor (an evil greater even than Sauron) captured a group of newly born elves.  One of them was ready to fight for his life—and for the love he'd left behind. 

Disclaimer: Not mine, even if I wish really really hard.  If that technique worked, I'd be in Neverland right now...or have Draco Malfoy in my room…^_~

**A/N**:  Ahhhh! Ahhh!  I got reviews! **Hoo hah…hoo hah…** Ok, I want to thank **Sunsong, Philippa, **and **Daisy Brambleburr** for reviewing and making little amateur me happy; you guys have the honor of being my first-ever reviewers! ::hands out party hats::

            Ok.  About my story.  It takes place in a relatively open period, and any information I have here is open to contest (not that I'm inviting you).  Yes, I did research, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it's accurate.  Tell me in an email or a review or something if you think something is inaccurate and should be changed.  I know Finwe only had three sons, but for the sake of my story, he has four.  Amaniel is my creation as well.  On average, a chapter might come once a week, depending on how hectic I get. 

            Now that I've bored you enough…CHAPPY TWO!

            Finturi paced the distance between the two trees, occasionally scuffing the toe of his boot in the lush grass.  It brushed about his ankles, waving gently in the wind as if underwater.  He had come early to their special meeting spot, rehearsing in his head the words he intended to say—if only he could keep his wits about him.  The sunshine softly enveloped the young elf in the innocent caress of a sun that knows little of the pain that its earthbound children would one day face.  It was a sun that rarely had the need to hide itself in anguish behind a webbing of cloud, and shone all the more brightly for this privilege.   However, thoughts of the young sun were the farthest thing from Finturi's mind that afternoon.

            He remembered his half-brother Fëanor's teasing from earlier that morning, and smiled.

            "Ah yes, young Finturi-"  (Fëanor adopted a solemn expression at this) "you are meeting the lovely maiden Amaniel this afternoon, are you not?"

            Finturi blushed, his fair cheeks tinged the pale pink of a conch shell.

            "We…may have something planned."  Fëanor raised his eyebrow delicately.

            "Well, whatever "something" you may have planned, be sure to give her my regards.  After all, you're not the only prince who knows beauty when he sees it."  Finturi sputtered, embarrassed.  He made a move to cross his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture when Fëanor grabbed his hand, laughing.  

            "You know I jest with you, Finturi," he said.  "I only envy your luck at having found love so early.  It is a gift."  Finturi nodded, his jet hair spilling over his shoulders.

            "She is the one who gives the stars their light and the birds their song," he said, gazing past Fëanor in the direction of the secret meeting spot, hidden among the trees.  He could see Amaniel clearly in his mind, from the strength in her smile to the thick brown hair twined into a long braid down her back.  Fëanor smiled at his younger half-brother's faraway expression.

            "Then tell her," he said.  "Tell her before one of the other sons of King Finwë decides to claim her!"  Laughing, he leapt out of  Finturi's reach and raced away, his inherent elven grace apparent in his long strides.

            Shaking his head at the memory, Finturi resumed his pacing.  Running his plan once more through his head, he glanced up at the sun to discern the time.  His shadow, keeping stride along beside him had begun to lengthen and distort.  Amaniel should be there any moment.  

            Suddenly, a tinkling laughter broke out behind him, and Finturi stopped moving abruptly.  He turned to see Amaniel standing between two towering oaks, grinning broadly.  

            "By the sound of it, you'll have worn a rut into the ground with all that pacing," she said, stepping into the sunlight.  Finturi's breath caught in his chest.  

            "_Cormamin lindua ele lle_," he finally managed.  "It is good to see you."

            A small shadow crossed Amaniel's face before she laughed again.

            "I wish I could say the same to you, Finturi," she said, gesticulating at her eyes.  Milky and opaque, they stared blankly out at a personal unending night.

            The lady Amaniel was blind.

            Finturi reached out and grasped her hand impulsively; he could feel her stiffen and then relax under his touch.

            "I will be your eyes today, with your consent," he said softly.  Amaniel paused.

            "If that is what you so desire," she replied eventually.  Slowly they turned and began to walk through the trees, threading a path both obviously knew well.  They moved in silence for a while, two shadows amid the green watchfulness of the forest.  Suddenly Amaniel turned, pulling her hand from Finturi's.  

            "I had another dream, Finturi," she said, biting her lip.  "You were in it this time.  I recognized your voice."  He sighed gently.

            "Another premonition, you think?" 

            "I don't know, it's possible.  They come more often now, these dreams.  And they have become steadily darker.  I feel a great weight laid upon me now every time I sleep."

            "But Amaniel…how can you be sure what you see when you've never had a single glimpse of the world?"

            Amaniel inhaled sharply.  Her braid danced angrily as her delicate face contorted with frustration.

            "Just because I cannot see this world does not mean I am not conscious of it!  I know what I dream, whether you choose to believe me or not!  Maybe they are just disconnected, meaningless nightmares…but they're so real…"  she turned away.  Finturi stood, shocked by her vehemence.  Then, tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.  To her credit, she didn't flinch. 

            "Tell me about what you saw."

            She took a moment to respond.

            "At first, it was beautiful.  You and I were together, dressed in fine garments, surrounded by this vibrant, vivid color…I can't name it…the color of the way the earth smells after rain."

            "Green?"

            "Perhaps.  Anyway, the—green—began to die.  Slowly at first, it was just fading away becoming the dark I usually know…and you were being changed by it.  Warped.  You became twisted and smelled of anger and hate, and your hands were cold against mine, and you said—you said to me—"

            Finturi stepped closer.

            "What did I say?"

            "You said 'Amaniel…could you still love me like this?' and then I woke up with this sense of terrible loss choking me like a stone.  I've never felt so lonely in my life."

            Finturi pulled Amaniel closer into a hug.  

            "You will never be lonely," he murmured against her hair.  "I promise you, _melamin_."  He hesitated, then spoke again.

            "Do you think…do you think you would mind so much if…I were your eyes?  It seems a small trade,  as you are my heart, and my joy."  He held his breath.

            Amaniel smiled. 

            "Leave the poetry to me," she whispered.  "I'm so much better at it."  And with that, she pulled his lips down to meet hers.

            For a moment, all darkness fled save their intertwined shadows on the grass beside them.

_Cormamin lindua ele lle:_ My heart sings to see thee

_Melamin:_ My love

All Elvish comes from this site: 

Tell me what you think of my (unedited) mumbo-jumbo…


	3. Chapter Three A Meeting

Author: **Scheherazade **

Title: _Beyond the Metamorphosis_

Summary: In the First Age of the Stars, Melkor (an evil greater even than Sauron) captured a group of newly born elves.  One of them was ready to fight for his life—and for the love he'd left behind. 

Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine, and still no Malfoy. Heehee!

**A/N:**  Thank you thank you thank you mucho for reviewing!  It does my heart good to see that people like my inane drivel…**MauraMellon, Superboy ** and **Philippa**, thank you for your comments!  Men…if Finturi wasn't so cute in my head I'd whack him for not listening to Amaniel…sheesh…

This chappy is kind of dialogue-y…not a great deal of action, but there will be later…

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            _Amaniel…could you still love me like this?_  The unfamiliar shapes and sounds of her vision swirled around her, garish colors palpably filling her lungs and sensitive eyes like a thick odor.  There were no words for the pain they caused her, she who had wrapped a blanket of sunlight around her shoulders, but never seen the way the rays glanced off her thick hair.  The colors burned her mind's eye until she flailed out against them, furious and indignant.  In her dream, she fell forwards into an abyss, surrounded by blessed darkness once again, but utterly alone…

            The lady Amaniel woke with a start.  

            She had been waking from the same nightmare for several nights now, drenched in sweat and fear.  In every vision, she and Finturi were enveloped by vivid colors and a shadow unlike any she had ever known.  Tonight, however, other wise and friendly voices were heard, other familiar scents—the voices and scents of old friends.

            What did it all mean?

            Amaniel felt around for the water she always kept near her bed.  She took a long draught of the moon-chilled water; it tasted like fermented wind.  That selfsame wind stirred the treetops nearby and whispered against the sweat cooling on her forehead.  Sleep now, Amaniel.  Let the dreams go.  They mean nothing…nothing…

            She rolled over and returned to a now-dreamless sleep.

            ****

            Finturi sat firmly ensconced between Fëanor and Finarfin, the next youngest after Finturi himself.  Finwë, their father, and Fingolfin, the second-eldest brother, sat adjacent.  They were gathered together on a veranda of Finwe's stronghold in Tirion to discuss the further affairs of the Noldor; Finwë regularly engaged his sons in such meetings, to prepare them for the lives they would one day lead, and for the trials they would inevitably have to endure.  

So far the afternoon had been pleasant, their words soft and slow, as if drugged by the oppressive heat.  Summer was noticeably waxing to its zenith, and although Finturi was not greatly affected by the elevated temperature, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable just sitting and languishing.  He was also feeling somewhat bored; he never contributed a great deal to these discussions, content to listen and observe instead.

He stretched, tuning out the relaxed voices of his brothers and father; instead he studied their faces, the distinct characteristics each displayed.  He watched as Fëanor's lip curled into a sneer at Fingolfin, his now cruelly-twisted face bespeaking disdain.  There was no love lost between Fëanor and his half-brothers Fingolfin and Finarfin; their golden resemblance to their mother, Indris of the Vanya, seemed to offend him. 

 Finturi often wondered why Fëanor seemed to love him so—Indris was his mother as well.  Perhaps it was due to the fact that Finturi was not tall and golden like his mother, and instead bore a strong resemblance to his black-haired father; it was easier to forget that the blood of Indris ran through his veins.  

            Fëanor's own mother, Míriel, had been so drained by her son's birth that her spirit had eventually passed from her broken body.  Finwë was devastated by his loss, and for many years it had seemed like he would never love another.  He guarded his son Fëanor jealously, as if afraid that he would be lost as well.  

Even now, Finturi thought, it was Fëanor that held the biggest portion of their father's heart, and the most valued share of his attention.  Finturi didn't mind—his older  sibling was wise, and beautiful, and in Finturi's adoring eyes could do no wrong.  Fëanor's recent creation of the Silmarils only added to the hero-worship many of the Noldor felt for him; aloof, handsome and brave, Fëanor had proven his worth countless times.  

            However, as the years passed, it had become increasingly difficult to provoke a smile on Fëanor's face.  It seemed recently that only his sons and his youngest brother even saw his playful side—his current estrangement from his wife, Nerdanel, had taken its toll.  

 His growing obsession with his new creations, the Silmarils, also claimed more and more of his time.  This troubled Finturi, but he brushed it aside; the Silmarils were beautiful and enticing, but Fëanor would tired of them eventually, just as he would of any other toy.  Of this Finturi was sure.  

A bee whined around the room, looping in and around the faces of the gathered elves.  Finturi watched its progress, thinking about Amaniel.  Where was she now?  He had seen her every day since their mutual declaration of love, but had only time for a few breathless kisses.  He wished that the pair of them could be at their secret meeting place right then, entwined in each other's arms.  But for the moment, he was confined to this increasingly stuffy room.  The bee flew out the window.  Mentally berating himself for daydreaming, Finturi's wandering attention returned to the discussion at hand, in time to hear Finwë say

            "…Many of our brethren have begun to speak against the Valar.  I hear whispers, murmurs of dissent, every day growing more numerous, and louder.  We must be wary of Melkor—"

            "Melkor!" Fëanor spat.   "What do the affairs of the Noldor have to do with him?"

            "Don't forget, Father, that Manwë, _the ruler of the Valar_, has pardoned Melkor.  He no longer poses a threat to our security," said Fingolfin.  

            "I hear, but still I am wary," said Finwë.  "He is as dangerous now as he ever was, should he decide to strike again."

            "Melkor is _Wethrinaer_," said Finarfin quietly.  "We should be cautious in invoking his help or attention.  But for the meantime, we must keep our suspicions hushed and attempt merely to quell the surging dissidence of our people, the Noldor."

            "It won't be as easy as that," said Finwë sadly.  "Our people have begun to smith weapons and divide themselves along family lines.  Conflict may be rooted deeper than we think, and even  harder to alleviate."

"Family lines, family ties—they mean nothing," said Fëanor quietly, his eyes alight.  He stared hard at Fingolfin, his face a mask of abhorrence.  "Brothers against brothers, sons against fathers, usurping, betraying…it happens all the time," his gaze traveled from Fingolfin to the other three elves gathered around the table.  "We should take solace only in ourselves, because we may never know who our allies—and enemies—are." His harsh tone sent shivers down Finturi's spine.  What was Fëanor talking about?

"Take the Valar.  Why do we trust them so?  Why do they hold such sway over our lives?  I say we cast their imperious commands aside, and seize our rightful authority, away from Valinor, their kingdom."  Fëanor, the aptly named "Spirit of Fire" concluded.  

An uncomfortable silence so thick it seemed to impede inhalation settled itself around the table, hushing their voices more effectively than the escalating heat.  Finturi shifted in his chair, staring at the floor.  Where were these incendiary words coming from?  Surely not from Fëanor…

Fingolfin finally broke the silence.

"_Amin merna quen_—to say such things is wrong, brother," he said.  "The Valar shelter us and give us strength.  It is not our place to question—"

"You would say that," Fëanor spat maliciously, his long fingers clenching like bird claws on the arms of his chair.  "No matter.  You have nothing to fear from them.  You are their pet, their minion—Prince Fingolfin, singled out by the Valar for greatness."  Fingolfin's face registered complete confusion as he took  in his brother's fuming face.  

"I wish I knew how to stop your anger, Fëanor.  It will only lead to pain." Fingolfin said.  Silence fell again.  Finturi coughed self-consciously, and Finwë jumped at the opportunity to wrest the conversation from its current course.

"Ah!  Finturi!  We have yet to discuss the most important item on the agenda: your upcoming marriage to Lady Amaniel!  The Eve of _Faradome_ is probably the most opportune date to hold the service, if both you and Amaniel agree."  Finturi winced inside his head at his father's less-than-skillful topic change, but the tension that had vibrated in the very particles of  the air was quickly dissipating as the talk turned to Finturi's wedding.

_Wethrinaer_: deceitful one

_Amin merna quen_:  I wish to speak

_Faradome_: Summer Solstice

            Once again, all Elvish comes from (www.) 

I'm not too happy with this chapter…I think it could have been better…oh well…I might revise it and repost it, but I really want to get this hammered out.  Sorry it took so long.

Review and tell me what you think of my (unedited) drivel!  Continue?  Set fire to my hard drive?  There are some interesting twists and turns planned for further on…so keep reading!  I'll try not to disappoint! ^_^


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